Bonfire Masquerade (5 page)

Dad kept everyone out of the office until the police came. They turned the house into a mini police station. Those guests who remained were rounded up and
placed in one room. No one was allowed to leave until the cops had their names, addresses, and a brief statement. Daniel's office was taped off.

“You two all right?” I asked Bess and George, when we were finally able to get a moment alone.

“Yeah.” Bess shivered. “But who could have done something like that! In his own house? It's terrible.”

Across the main room, I saw my father talking to the police. I placed a finger to my lips, and quietly, we drifted over to listen in.

“… was strangled, it looks like. Sitting in his chair. As his lawyer, do you know anyone who might have wanted him dead?”

“Well, he was in the middle of some sensitive business negotiations.”

“Money.” The cop sighed. “It's always money or love. We're going to need you to remain in the city until we have this figured out. I hope that won't be a problem.”

The way the cop said this made it clear that he didn't care if it was a problem, Dad wouldn't be leaving.

“No, that's fine.”

Dad must have caught sight of us hovering nearby, because he suddenly broke off. Bess, George, and I tried to scramble away, but we were too slow.

“Can you give me a moment, Officer? I need to speak to my daughter.”

The cop waved him away.

“You girls should get to bed. This is no place for you. And besides, I'm putting you on a plane back to River Heights in the morning.”

No way!
I thought. Things were just getting interesting, and we hadn't even seen any of Mardi Gras. I thought fast. “The police officer said we can't leave town until the investigation is over, since we're staying in the house and all.”

Dad looked frustrated for a moment, but then nodded. “All right, but I want you to leave this case to the cops.”

“Relax, Dad. I promise I won't do anything I wouldn't do at home.”

“That's exactly what I'm worried about.” He gave a rueful little laugh. Then he grew serious. “Be careful, girls. This isn't River Heights, and the police here don't know you.”

Bess, George, and I all nodded. Then we went up to our room on the top floor. As soon as we closed the door, they high-fived me.

“Fast thinking, Nance,” said George. “I thought for sure your dad was going to make us leave.”

“So what are you thinking?” asked Bess.

I sat down on one of the beds.

“Well, I don't know. I mean, this could be anything. Maybe someone broke in and tried to steal something, and Daniel surprised them.”

George looked doubtful. “It sounds like there's a ‘but' coming.” She knew me well.

“
But
something tells me it's about the warehouse. The one that burned down. And judging from what Dad was saying to the cops, it sounds like that's what he thinks too. I want to find out more about the two people who wanted to buy it. Nicole and …”

“Aaron,” Bess said. Something about the way she said his name caught my attention.

“Bess?”

“What? He seemed nice. We chatted for a while.” Bess paused and looked at the ground. “And … maybe we have a date tomorrow.”

I laughed. Of course they did. “So you got to talk to him?”

“A little.”

“Do you think he could have killed Daniel?”

“I don't know! I mean, he seemed nice. A little arrogant. We only talked for, like, fifteen minutes, though, so I have no idea.”

“Well, hopefully you can find out some more tomorrow. George, that puts you and me on research and Nicole.”

“She seemed pretty suspicious,” said George.

“Or at least totally weird,” chimed in Bess.

“She was definitely a big fake. And it's interesting that she runs a bunch of voodoo shops—didn't Daniel
say something about the warehouse site being cursed?”

I yawned and looked at the clock. Three a.m.! How had that happened? “Wow, it's late! All right, let's figure this all out in the morning.”

My dreams were full of crazy costumes, fires, and scary music. It felt like I'd spent six hours watching a horror movie that didn't make any sense. By the time I showered and got down to eat breakfast, Dad was already gone for the day.

“Sleep well?” Bess asked at the table.

“Blargh,” I responded.

“Me too,” she mumbled into her cereal. Somehow she still managed to look perfect, while I was pretty sure the bags under my eyes were bigger than my suitcase.

“So what are you doing with Aaron?” I asked Bess.

“He's going to show me around the French Quarter, and then we're going to dinner. He said there's a lot of great stuff to see in the area. Don't worry, I'll listen for anything suspicious.”

“I'm going to give Nicole a call now and see if she'll agree to talk to me.”

I fumbled in my bag for my cell phone. Man, was I not a morning person.

I called information and got Nicole's office number.

“Hi, Nicole? This is Nancy Drew—I was at Daniel's party last night?”

“Oh, you poor girl! How are you doing? This is terrible, just terrible. My cards saw it coming, you know. I tried to warn him.” Nicole sounded like a bad actress in a movie about New Orleans.

“We're all in shock here. It's been really hard. My dad, Carson Drew, is assisting Daniel's sister, Yvette, with his estate, and I said I'd help them. Do you have some time later, maybe we could talk?”

All right, it was a little bit of a lie. But only a little one! I was helping them. They just didn't know it yet.

“Oh, Nancy, I wish I could! But today is the first day of Mardi Gras season, and I'm afraid it's just impossible. But I would be honored if you took a free cemetery tour with my company, Haunted New Orleans!”

Well
, I thought,
at least we'll get a chance to be near her, and maybe I can pump her for some information.

“Thanks, Nicole, that'd be great. Can my friend George come along too?”

“Of course. And if your father would like to join us, he is
most
welcome.”

The tour was set for three o'clock. We were to meet up on the corner of Esplanade and North Rampart Street.

The tour was easy to find, especially because the woman leading it was wearing an all-black Southern belle outfit, complete with a black lace parasol.

“Rats!” I muttered. The tour leader was strange—but she wasn't Nicole. “So much for that plan.”

“We might as well take the tour anyway,” said George. “It looks like it could be interesting.”

I looked at the sun and nodded. The next thing on my sleuth agenda had to wait until after sundown, anyway.

And George was right. The tour was pretty interesting. I never knew one city could have so many freaky ghost stories! Serial killers, witches, voodoo curses, ghosts, haunted mansions—it was all to be found in New Orleans' French Quarter. But my favorite were the graveyards, which seemed to be everywhere throughout the city. They were beautiful and creepy and very Victorian.

“And here, in St. Louis Cemetery Number One,” said our tour guide, “we have the tomb of the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans, Marie Laveau.” Our guide's fake Southern accent was so thick that “here” sounded like “HE-ya.”

The marble tomb she pointed to was small and unassuming, but there were candles and flowers all around it, and the marble itself was covered in hundreds of chalk
X
s. I was about to raise my hand and ask what they were for, but before I could, she explained.

“Many still come to ask her for favors from beyond the grave, and leave offerings, or make a mark of three
X
s.”

A few of the people in our tour group laughed nervously and took photos. But the tour guide's words were scary, even if her accent was ridiculous. When a cloud
suddenly slipped in front of the sun, and the graveyard went dark, even the nonbelievers hurried to leave the graveyard and get to the next site. I considered coming back with an offering, since hey, who couldn't use a little luck? But the graveyard seemed like a scary place to come alone at night.

The tour finished up right around sunset, which was perfect timing for the next part of my evening's agenda.

“Hey, George,” I said, “why don't you head back to Dan—to Yvette's house and do some research on the warehouse fire, and the troubles they've been having with the reconstruction? It might give us some leads.”

“Sure,” said George. “I've been jonesing for some computer time, anyway. I need to catch up on my RSS feed—wait, what are you planning?”

“Nothing. I just want to explore a little bit.”

George snorted. “Yeah, right. I know I can't convince you not to do what you're going to do. But be careful, Nancy!”

“Always am!” I responded.

George just snorted again. She hugged me, and we parted ways.

I walked through the streets of the French Quarter, by myself but far from alone. Every block seemed to have more people out than the entire population of River Heights! People in top hats and masks and feather boas and princess dresses and every kind of costume
you could ever imagine. Above my head, parties swirled on the beautiful wrought-iron balconies that seemed to front every building in the neighborhood. It would be easy to forget what I was doing here and get swept away in the party, but I convinced myself to keep going. I had a mystery to solve!

Finally I found the block I was looking for. There, on the corner, was the burnt shell of Daniel's warehouse. It must have once been huge. Three-quarters of the building was still standing, although one end looked like it had collapsed in on itself. The windows and doors had all burst, and there were black soot streaks all over the outside. The remains took up half a block. Even this long after the fire, I could still smell smoke when I got near it.

There was police tape around the doors and windows. I did a quick look around. The street was full, but everyone was too caught up in having a good time to pay any attention to me. I chose a likely-looking door, one that had been half destroyed by the fire. On the count of three, I ducked through the entrance and shouldered the door open.

I waited for a moment in the darkness, to make sure no one came after me or shouted for me to stop. Once I was certain my entrance had gone unnoticed, I reached into my bag and pulled out a tiny but powerful headlamp. I used to make fun of George for always having
a headlamp on her, but she was right—they left your hands free and made detective work that much easier. Every girl should have one.

The headlamp illuminated the remains of scraps of canvas, melted statues, and destroyed drawings. Most paints are extremely flammable, so this place must have gone up like a tinderbox. What the fire hadn't eaten, the water from the fire trucks had washed away.

“Ow!” I yelled, before I remembered I was trying to be sneaky. I'd stubbed my toe on some tools, which must have been left by the workmen.

For a second, my voice echoed throughout the building. Then it kept echoing, and I realized it wasn't my voice!

A weird wailing sound was coming from the second floor of the building. It might just have been wind, but then, it might not… . I looked at the stairs. They were scorched, but they were made out of concrete. They looked okay… .

I decided to chance it. I walked quickly but carefully, trying to step as gently as possible and stay on each stair for as little time as possible. I made it to the first landing with no problem. A smashed window provided some light from the street, and I could see the second set of steps in front of me. They looked fine.

I made it up three steps when a screeching, metal-on-stone noise began in front of me. The stairs were
pulling away from the floor! I scrambled forward, but I was too late. There was no way I was going to make it to the second floor before the stairs collapsed. They were moving faster now, swaying as the supports popped out of the wall one by one.

I screamed and stepped backward. I grabbed for the railing—and it disintegrated beneath my hand. I fell.

Luckily, I hit the landing with my rear. But the struts that supported the landing were pulling out of the wall as well. I turned back to the stairs that led down to the first floor, but I could see at a glance it was no use. I'd never make it. The entire staircase was about to collapse, and take me with it!

CHAPTER
6

FRANK
WRONG SIDE OF THE TRACKS

“Whoa! Excuse me, sorry, coming through!”

I didn't think it was legal to skateboard in an airport. At the very least, it wasn't safe. Yet Lenni Wolff was doing it right now, zooming past baggage claim, ducking and weaving around disembarking passengers and skycaps loading luggage—barreling right toward us. Joe and I were about to leap out of her way when she came to a skidding halt a foot from us.

“Frank! Joe! Man, you guys travel in style.” Lenni was grinning from ear to ear as she unbuckled her helmet and released her signature crazy hair. This time, it had leopard spots dyed in it. When we first met her, while working on a mystery at the Galaxy X extreme sports park, it had been bright blue and spiky.

We hadn't been sure which side she was on at first, but she'd helped us out a lot—even if she'd been causing some of the trouble we were trying to prevent. If anyone could get us in with the kind of folks who might know about the robberies down here, it was Lenni.

“First class? Last minute?” Lenni gave out a low whistle. “My ticket must have cost buckets!”

She tossed her helmet at me and picked up her board. She kept walking out of the airport, leaving Joe and me to scramble to keep up with her.

“Yeah,” I said. “Well, ATAC pays for everything—”